


The Hand You're Dealt

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wouldn't have minded so much if only Sherlock would stop introducing him as 'John Watson. I won him in a poker game.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Know When to Fold ‘Em

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to johnsarmylady on fanfiction - she knows why!
> 
> Warnings- Swearing (Yeah I do that – a lot!) and oh yeah- I know very little about Poker. I’m sure that will be obvious!
> 
> As usual I own nothing, except the computer I am working on. That happy pleasure belongs to the lovely men at BBC Gatiss & Moffat as well as the wonderful Arthur Conan Doyle. I wouldn’t mind winning John in a poker game.
> 
> The chapter titles are from The Gambler written by Don Schlitz & performed by Kenny Rogers (corny – I know).
> 
> Any mistakes are mine.
> 
> A new translation into [Chinese](http://221dnet.211.30i.cn/bbs/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=4848) is now available by the awesome Signorvernet  
> 

A new translation into Chinese is now available by the awesome Signorvernet  
Here is the link: http://221dnet.211.30i.cn/bbs/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=4848

 The Hand You’re Dealt

 

Chapter 1. Know When to Fold ‘Em

 

John was a superb poker player. He usually won because people underestimated him. He looked all warm and soft and friendly, but in reality he was as ruthless as an old west poker player in a run down saloon that had nothing to offer to alleviate the boredom but ugly prostitutes and cheep rotgut.

 John decided he needed to stop watching westerns.

 So instead he was here at Mike’s on a Saturday night. The group at the table was an interesting bunch. Mike, of course, a young, pretty pathologist named Molly Hooper who was actually very good and made a wicked bean dip, the head custodian Barry something who played fast and loose with his money and then there was the alien. A tall, skinny oddly striking individual who Mike had sworn had never played poker before and yet had been soundly beating everyone at the table hand after hand.

 Not an ugly prostitute in sight.

 John looked at his cards. He had a great hand. If only he could beat the slightly alien looking man who reminded him a little of the alien at the end of Close Encounters, this once, he would be able to enjoy a few weeks of better food and maybe replace the worn jumper he was wearing.

 John decided he needed to stop watching science fiction movies as well.

 Last round.

 Last hand.

 Lots of money.

 He put down his hand.

 Straight flush.

 He grinned a little, thinking this time he had him.

 The other fellow, Sherlock, _what the hell kind of name was Sherlock?_ didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

 He quietly laid down his hand.

 No fucking way.

 Goddam fucking Royal flush.

 John felt his insides deflate.

 “Tough luck, mate,” said Barry the custodian.

 Molly, the pathologist sighed and looked sympathetic then turned to Sherlock and congratulated him all stammers and blushes.

 Sherlock looked straight at John.

 “I believe it is customary to ‘pay up’ at the end of the game,” he intoned quietly with his rich baritone.

 “Um,” and John blushed. He wasn’t usually so quick to play without enough to cover his bets, but he had been caught up in the excitement of a night out and the prospect of winning a little extra for the week. And he tended to a slight gambling addiction. One he had thought he’d broken after getting shot in Afghanistan.

 “I’m afraid I will have to owe you,” he mumbled and his blush deepened. “I’m good for it. I just didn’t…well, I just didn’t…”

 “Expect to lose?” Sherlock said knowingly. “I see. Well it so happens I have little need for money.”

 John felt a touch of relief, but then Sherlock continued.

 “You do owe me a substantial amount of money. I am in need of an assistant. I therefore have a proposition to offer you. You work for me and I forget the debt you owe me.” 

 John frowned and looked at the man sitting opposite from him. He seemed entirely serious.

 “That seems a tad unorthodox, don’t you think?”

 Mike, Barry and Molly watched the interaction between the two men with a range of bemusement on their faces. And a lot of back and forth head movement.

 “No,” Sherlock replied, bluntly. “I work helping the police. I am a Consulting Detective. I require an assistant who is not uncomfortable around murder scenes.  Knowledge of medicine is also beneficial and seeing as you’re a doctor that is a plus in your favour. A well-trained doctor. Also the fact you were a Captain in the army is another advantage for me to employ you as my assistant. Former Army Doctor trained at Bart’s, served in either Afghanistan or Iraq, knowledgeable about violent death. Saw plenty of action I assume?”

 John nodded tightly, his arms crossed. _How did he know all of this?_  He glanced at Mike.

 Mike grinned and shook his head, “I didn’t tell him, John. It’s this thing he does.”

 Sherlock rolled his eyes at Mike’s phrasing. “As I have repeatedly told you, Stamford, it is not a ‘thing’. It is deduction.”

 John shifted uncomfortably.

 “Okay, so how did you know? About everything.”

 “Quite simple really, if one were to observe. I have been watching you all evening. When you arrived tonight you and Stamford were reminiscing about former instructors at Bart’s. I also know that is where Stamford studied, therefore trained at Bart’s. A doctor trained at Bart’s is considered to be top notch. Well trained. Then there is your posture, and your military haircut, as well as the fact that you unconsciously check your surroundings looking for hidden threats. You have recently returned from seeing action and you have not yet given up the habit, so Army Doctor, obvious. Afghanistan or Iraq is easy. You have a tanned face and tanned hands, but no tan above the wrists, therefore you’ve been abroad but not sunbathing. A doctor serving in a war would definitely be acclimatized to violence and have seen plenty of death.”

 “And Captain?” asked John.

 “Shot in the dark, but good one, though. I could have said Lieutenant but given your age that seemed unlikely and your level of training. My next guess would have been Major, but after watching you play poker I have noticed that although you can control your temper, you do not suffer fools gladly and you probably have been turned down from further promotions because of telling off superior officers, especially if it involves interfering with a patient.”

 John’s eyebrows could not possibly shoot any higher on his forehead.

 “That was…amazing,” said John.

 Sherlock frowned slightly and then the look in his eyes changed slightly. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments. He seemed rather pleased, but in an almost shy and uncertain way. He half glanced towards the floor.

 “That’s not what most people say.”

 “What do most people say,” asked John.

 Barry answered for him. “Piss off.”

 Sherlock frowned again. John felt almost sorry for him.

 “So what would I do? As your assistant that is?”

 Sherlock blinked and looked at him as if he were an idiot, “You’d assist me. Did I not make myself clear? I was under the assumption that you were reasonably intelligent. I sincerely hope I was not wrong.”

 John’s eyebrows threatened to take up permanent residence in his hairline.

 Sherlock sighed heavily, “I assist the police solving cases. I need someone to talk to and the skull attracts too much attention. As a doctor, your input into cause and time of death, could possible be valuable, although I doubt it. You would not be bored, which you undoubtedly are, a former army doctor sitting around watching westerns and science fiction movies all day.”

  _Skull? And how did he know about the movies? Oh never mind._

 Sherlock was awkward and arrogant and incredibly rude. He came to the table with no experience in playing poker and had mopped the floor with all of them. That was not something that would be endearing to most seasoned poker players. But there was something about him; there was something about his obvious genius that pulled at John. He was intrigued. He also owed this man a large sum of money. It would be better than sitting around the bedsit contemplating his navel. He’d be getting out and about once in a while.

 A little surprised with himself, John found himself agreeing.

 Sherlock abruptly stood, walked over to where his coat was hanging, put it on, pulled out a blue scarf and wrapped it around his throat.

 “Meet me tomorrow at 221B Baker Street. I have a flat there. I could use a flatmate. You could use better accommodations and if you are going to be working for me you might as well be nearby. Night Stamford. This was rather an entertaining evening.”

 And without a further word he was gone, leaving a feeling that a force of nature had blown through Mike’s flat with the only damage being to John’s dignity.

 John looked at Mike with a rather startled expression on his face.

 “God, John,” said Mike. “What the hell did you just get yourself into?”

 


	2. Know When to Walk Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah – there kinda is a plot if you squint – it might become more apparent in the next chapter – I hope you are good with that. I am more into exploring relationships and in this case awkward situations.

Chapter 2. Know When to Walk Away

 

2 Months Later

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” fumed John as he turned and stormed off, leaving the crime scene with half of Scotland Yard pointing and laughing behind his back. John had been working for Sherlock a couple of months now and there were still a few teams of officers he hadn’t met yet. Hadn’t been introduced to in Sherlock’s unique style.

 “Do what?” Sherlock’s puzzled tone did nothing to placate John’s temper.

 He turned half way and glanced at Sherlock. John’s face was blazing with anger and embarrassment.

 “Introduce me that way! ‘This is John Watson. I won him in a poker game.’”

 Sherlock blinked and rocked back on his heels.

 “I did.”

 “ _No_. I stupidly let you acquire my services to cover my bet. Besides it implies things…people already assume…Oh, for the love of…!” John turned and stalked off.

 Sherlock stood there wondering what he had done wrong.

 He hurried after John, “Well, what would you prefer I say?” John stopped again and lowered his head, staring at the ground. He sighed heavily. His shoulders went up and back and he looked at Sherlock again. “This is John Watson, my acquaintance, my colleague, my P.A. or how about my friend? Something…something a little more personable.” The last was said with a wistful expression as if John couldn’t quite believe that Sherlock would feel that way, could feel that way. As if they were friends. Even though John worked for him.

 "Oh.” Pause “I suppose one of those could be construed as being accurate,” he mused. “I suppose I could introduce you as my blogger, but that sounds so ordinary, dull.”

 “I _am_ your blogger, among other things!” John’s exasperation was clear.

 Sherlock tilted his head to one side and frowned, “Have I in some way hurt your feelings? You know John, you really should have thought more carefully about our arrangement if it bothers you so much.” Sherlock actually looked hurt.

 John felt he was treading a fine line between hurting Sherlock’s feelings and making a point. He just didn’t want Sherlock to keep treating him like he owned him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and silently counted to ten.

 “Let me try to explain so that you understand what I feel. I enjoy working for you very much. I do not regret the circumstances that led to me working for you. You helped me get over my psychosomatic limp and I have fewer nightmares on the nights you play your violin. I have a much more fulfilling life since I moved in with you and I wouldn’t change a thing except for the way you introduce me to people. _It makes me feel like you got lucky and I’m a one night stand!_ ” John’s voice had remained calm throughout most of what he was saying. It rose sharply at the end so that he was practically yelling.

 “So saying I won you in a poker game makes you feel that I also won sexual favours from you? It concerns you because you are afraid that others also believe this to be true?”

 John clenched his teeth. “Yes!”

 Sherlock thought momentarily. Then he clapped his hands. “I know! I will say that although I won you in a poker game that in no way allows me to gratify any sexual urges I may have upon your person. Not that I have any.”

 John groaned and rolled his eyes. Why was the world’s smartest man being so deliberately obtuse?

 “You know what? Just forget it. Just forget this whole conversation. Delete it or what ever it is you do. I will learn to live with the implications. It has to beat listening you come up with a new and more humiliating way of introducing me.”

 Sherlock looked at John to see if he was telling the truth. John mustered as much sincerity in his eyes as he possible could. He had the feeling it didn’t matter what he said at this point. Sherlock was going to continue to introduce him as if he’d won the biggest prize imaginable. It had to be better than using the words ‘gratify any sexual urges’.

 Sherlock nodded and then proceeded to dissect how he solved the latest case.

 John half listened, nodding at appropriate moments and wondering once again what he had been thinking when he agreed to work off his debt to Sherlock this way.

 Sherlock steadily lead them down the street toward a restaurant. Now that the case was over John at least had the satisfaction of knowing that Sherlock would eat.

 The door to the restaurant chimed as they walked in. A smartly dressed middle-aged woman came up to Sherlock and clasped his hands. John was always surprised that the detective allowed this to happen. He knew Sherlock didn’t like touching people, but he was always gracious with former clients. At least former clients who offered to pay him back with free meals and dry cleaning.

 “Sherlock, so good to see you. Anything you want for you and your date. On the house. No charge!”

 John had a flashback to that first night at Angelo’s and muttered the same phrase he had then “I’m not his date.” It was a halfhearted appeal at best.

 Sherlock turned to introduce John. John insides tightened as he prepared for the worst.

 “Let me introduce you to John Watson. He is my blogger and my friend. I won him in a poker game. Let me reassure you that in no way, shape or form am I shagging him.” And to John’s utter horror he accompanied that remark with a bold and cheeky wink, completely negating the preceding sentence.

 “See, John! I can be personable!”


	3. Know When to Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings – And of course there’s swearing – because that’s what I do. Oh, and mention of forced drug use. And yes I know drug use is not funny & no I am not condoning the use of drugs –I’m just immature

Chapter. 3 Know When to Run

 

4 months after that

 “Run!” Sherlock yelled at John “Get your bloody arse moving Watson!”

 John would have been happy to comply if his legs weren’t asleep from being tied up so long or if he hadn’t been drugged with something that made everything so sparkly and hazy. One part of his brain was highly amused to hear Sherlock swear. Sherlock never swore. It was very funny. John started giggling. His thoughts started to wander and he was extremely light headed. _Arse is such a funny word, especially coming from Sherlock. Arse, arse, arse, arse. If you say it over and over again it loses all meaning. Why am I lying face down on the ground?_ He didn’t remember falling, but he must have.

 Strong hands lifted him unsteadily to his feet.

 “God damn it John I have too much invested in you for you to lay down and die. You need to get on your sodding feet and for Christ’s sake you need to get moving before the whole fucking place blows up.” John looked at Sherlock with a modicum of confusion and a great deal of awe. That was some first rate swearing.

 “Damn it soldier! On your feet! Now! Run Captain!”

 Something in John seem to respond to Sherlock’s commands. He felt completely exhausted, his legs were more than wobbly and that was a bit not good, but he managed a staggering run. Sherlock kept his hand on John’s arm to keep him moving. They weren’t far from the exit of the abandoned building to which the bomber had brought John. He’d been injected with an unknown substance. For the second time in a short while John had been strapped to an obscene amount of explosives and for the second time Sherlock had ripped a bomb off of him in a dark and abandoned building. The detective had been able to disarm the primary bomb, but as he threw it into a corner it had set in motion the timer on a second device and like a scene from a bad action movie there was actually a digital timer on it. _Honestly who did that?_ They had less than five minutes to clear the building.

 John’s staggering run smoothed out into something slightly more respectable, but he couldn’t stop giggling, and this produced two effects. One, it robbed him of precious breath he needed to run and two, to a lesser degree, but one John was enjoying none the less, it was totally pissing Sherlock off.

 “I fail to see the humour in our situation, John.”

 “Can’t… can’t help it… Sherly.” John stumbled again, over come with giggles and he would have gone down if Sherlock hadn’t tightened his grip and shoved him forward.

 “We will discuss it when we have cleared the building. Now move it!”

 “Get it, get it? Sherly? Surely? ‘Surely, you must be kidding?’”

 Sherlock growled. They were very close to the exit. He was supporting more and more of the doctor’s weight as John was over come with more laughter.

 “You’re suppose…you’re suppose to say…‘No I’m not. And…don’t call me Sherly!’”

 Just then the door loomed up. Sherlock dragged John through it. They ran down the deserted street. Sherlock spotted a low wall half a block from the doomed building and shoved John over it. They had no sooner crouched down on the grass when a rumble caught their ears. It signaled the death of the building. With a roar and a moan, the structure exploded and came crashing down. In a reversal of roles that had been established even in the short time of knowing each other, Sherlock threw his long body over John’s, protecting him from the occasional bits of flying debris.

 John’s giggles hadn’t subsided the entire time.

 Sherlock could hear him mutter something about people talking because Sherlock was lying on top of him. He rolled his eyes.

 As the building finished collapsing, Sherlock chanced raising his head. His eyes narrowed and he huffed in disgust.

 “If we are fortunate the bomber was caught in the blast.” He then stood up. He climbed up on the wall for a better view. His coat swirled in the pre-morning wind. His dark and imposing figure stilled as he surveyed the damaged building. He glanced down as John laughed even harder and his glazed eyes caught Sherlock’s.

 “Go on…say it!”

 “Say what, John?” He was almost gentle in his inquiry, aware that something was definitely wrong with the doctor.

 “’I’m Batman!”” He pulled himself into a tighter hug, laughing hysterically.

 Sherlock pulled out his mobile and placed a call to Lestrade.

 “Yes, I found him, but he’s been drugged and having an adverse reaction. No, he doesn’t appear injured other than the drugs. Yes, an ambulance will be necessary. Also a clean up crew. The building he was in is destroyed and there’s no immediate sign of the bomber.” He paused and looked at the man lying on the ground, shaking with silently laughter. “Do hurry, Lestrade.” He hung up and pocketed the mobile. He knelt down again, beside John, a look of concern on his face. It had taken him far too long to locate John and he noted a growing and uncomfortable realization that he’d almost been too late. This was unacceptable. He was ruining a perfectly good working relationship, by developing feelings of concern and friendship for the man. He wondered if it was time he came clean.

 No, perhaps not yet.

 “I’m fine…I’m fine Sherly…I don’t need an ambulance.”

 “I don’t care how much you argue with me, doctor. I’m getting you to the hospital.”

 “’A hospital? What is it?’ ‘It’s a big building with patients…but that…that’s not important…important right now.’” He was rolling on the ground almost not able to breath he was laughing so hard.

 “What the hell did he drug you with?”

 “No idea. But it makes even you look pretty!” John wiped his eyes. He took a deep breath and seemed to compose himself once again, but then he took in the look on Sherlock’s face and collapsed again.

 Fortunately at that moment, Sherlock could hear sirens in the distance.

 In a short span of time, the ambulance and Lestrade pulled up, followed by what appeared to be most of Scotland Yard.

 Lestrade looked on with concern as the paramedics bundled John onto a gurney and started to get him into the ambulance.

 He glanced down at the man lying there. “You alright, there John?”

 John looked at Lestrade and managed to pull himself together for a moment. “Will be.” He slurred as weariness over came him. “But watch out for Sherly there.” He beckoned Lestrade closer with a lazy hand and whispered in a carrying voice “He’s an alien. Only way he could’ve beat me at cards.” And John then finally and mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.

 Lestrade glanced back at Sherlock standing there hunched in his coat. He’d never thought he see the day The Great Holmes would look so vulnerable. Did that stop him from taking the piss out of him? Nope.

 “He’ll be alright. They’ll see to it at the hospital. Come along, Sherly. I’ll give you a ride.”

 Sherlock glowered at Lestrade but climbed into his car, even though he hated riding in police vehicles.

 oOo

 “So they think it was some kind of psychedelic. They’ll have the rest of the test results back soon and we’ll know for sure.” Sherlock was saying as he finished reading John’s chart. He was sitting in a chair by John’s bed in the hospital. John looked decidedly better, although still pale and drawn.

 “Well, I hope I never find myself forced to take it again. Awful headache.” He said rubbing his forehead. He glanced at Sherlock, half embarrassed at what had come out of his mouth during their escape. John did not like not being in control.

 “Umm, Sherlock…I’m sorry for anything I might have said…I don’t remember much. I’m afraid I made an arse out of myself.”

 “Don’t be more of an idiot than you already are, John. It was beyond your control.” Sherlock glanced up at the man lying in the hospital bed. He smiled almost fondly at him. “You obviously have a low tolerance for drugs, designer or otherwise.”

 “I suppose you would have been more immune?” John said with a measure of humour.

 “Likely,” replied Sherlock, clicking he ‘k’ in the way that he did, making it the most important sound in the word. He paused.

 “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind answering?”

 John’s eyebrows shot up. Sherlock asking his permission?

 “Okay,” he said slowly, almost afraid to find out what the question was.

 “You told Lestrade that I must be an alien, which really John is a tad ridiculous even for you, because I beat you in the poker game? Is that true? Do you really think you’re that unbeatable?”

 John looked at Sherlock. That was his question?

 “Well, I don’t generally lose, I guess. It’s not that I’m totally unbeatable. I guess it just doesn’t happen very often. And you have to admit, you told Mike you’d never played before, so I was more than surprised that you kept winning hand after hand. Bit uncanny. Of course now that I know you it seems more likely that you were just really good at reading tells and such.” John glanced at Sherlock’s face. Then he did a double take.

 Something had flashed in Sherlock’s eyes for a moment. John hadn’t quite caught it. An uncomfortable feeling weighed in his stomach for an instance, but then he dismissed it.

  _Must be the drugs_ , he thought. _No way in hell would Sherlock ever feel guilty about anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank the writer’s of Airplane! (Jim Abrahams & David & Jerry Zucker) for contributing the lines my family uses around our house all the time and of course any Batman movie – did not want to put this at the beginning – did not want to spoil such memorable lines (lol).


	4. Never Count Your Money  (or Chickens, Either)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings – yeah no idea how bank vaults work – don’t care. This is definitely not about being logical!
> 
> Thanks to jack63kids & Peter(!) for answering questions & to my BFFF’s for moral support!
> 
> Any mistakes – blame me! (not Peter!)

Chapter 4. Never Count Your Money (or Chickens, either)

And 2 months after that

“I haven’t thanked you for not introducing me as your poker winnings anymore.”

“You’re welcome, John.”

“I do have another favour to ask, however.”

Deep sigh. “What is it this time?” came out in a disgruntled voice.

“I really think it’s going too far to introduce me as ‘The old ball and chain’.”

“Really, John, you are never satisfied. The man was clearly under the impression we were a couple.”

“Yeah, well maybe that’s because that had something to do with you referring to me as ‘the little woman’.” 

“I believed he would identify more favourably with our plight if we presented ourselves as a couple. As you can see it helped us gain access to the vault.”

“Oh, yes. Brilliant that was. The vault we are now stuck in with a bank robber. Well done!”

“Would you two shut it?! If you aren’t a married couple you certainly are acting like one, what with all the bickering for the last hour!”

“Really you are in no place to argue, you moronic idiot. What kind of a self respecting bank robber gets caught and locks himself and the two men chasing him into a bank vault? You are now clearly trapped in here with us and when the bank manager is finally able to open the vault, the police will no doubt be standing there ready to arrest you.”

“Oh yes, except for the fact that I am pointing a gun at your head and I am planning on using you and the little woman over there as hostages.”

“Oi!” said John.

“Isn’t your arm getting tired, holding that weapon to my head?”

“You never mind about my arm. I would like to know how you knew I’d be here. Might as well tell me. Beats listening to you two argue and we’ve time to kill until the timer runs down on the vault and they let us out.”

Sherlock looked at the man, sideways over his own shoulder. John continued to keep his gun trained on the bank robber, hoping for a shot that wouldn’t involve Sherlock getting killed. He didn’t know how long he was going to be able to continue this bizarre stand off.

“You are currently running an illegal cockfight every second Wednesday of the month and you have experienced a string of bad luck and unresponsive chickens. In order to cover your gambling debts you have taken to robbing banks in the general vicinity of your establishment. This is the last bank to be robbed in this area. We came here believing you might target this one next. Obviously I was correct. It was the plan to get here ahead of you and surprise you while you entered the vault, thereby capturing you in the act. You really should look at better opportunities to cover your debts, rather than robbing banks. Take John here for instance…”

Two voices chimed in “Shut up!”

There was a sudden noise coming from the heavy steel door of the vault. It opened slowly. A fresh waft of air came in.

As the door opened the Specialist Firearms Command were standing by weapons trained on the three men.

“Drop your weapons! 

John, loathed to do so, slowly lowered his gun to the ground, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s face and raised his arms above his head.

The bank robber, in a fairly steady voice, called out, “I am going to walk out of here with the money and the great talking git here and you are going to let me go.”

A voice easily recognized by both John and Sherlock called out, “That would be completely inadvisable. Even if you managed to leave here with my brother, there is no where on this planet that you can go that I cannot find you.”

The expressions on the three men were very different. John looked resigned to the fact that Mycroft had intervened and rescued them. He figured he be in for another lecture on not fulfilling his obligations of keeping Sherlock safe. Sherlock looked incensed that he had been rescued by Mycroft and was trying to figure out how to stop him from claiming the right to a favour for doing so. The bank robber looked completely stunned. 

“There are two of you?”

John answered that one.

“Unfortunately for you, yes.”

The bank robber slowly walked towards the opening of the vault his grip tightening on Sherlock’s throat.

“Release my little brother at once!” 

Sherlock glowed a bright red with embarrassment and outrage. John heard him muttering under his breath about various ways he could humiliate his brother. The robber pushed the gun harder into the detective’s head.

John waited until the bank robber passed by him. The robber was obviously not made of the brightest material. As he passed John standing there, ignoring the quiet unassuming man he had mistakenly placed in the none threatening category, John quickly, faster than the robber would have believed possible, pulled back on the arm holding the gun to Sherlock’s head, wrapping it behind the man’s back. He forced the man to drop the gun and it gave Sherlock enough leverage to whack his head back into the man’s nose, completely disabling him. 

The CO19 descended upon the group of men, sorting out criminal from hostage. 

Mycroft walked up to the two friends as the paramedics assessed them and stood there waiting to be acknowledge.

Sherlock sneered at his brother “I suppose we have you to thank for miraculously opening the vault sooner than was believed possible. I was given to understand that once they are engaged you can’t open them.”

Mycroft smiled a wintery smile at his brother. His silence spoke volumes. 

Sherlock flounced off to speak to the officer in charge. More likely, thought John, berate the officer in charge.

Mycroft stood staring at John.

“What?” John asked warily.

“I would like to thank you for rescuing my brother. Although I am surprised you let him get in these situations. He has improved markedly since having won you. You are for the most part a beneficial influence on him.”

John just looked at Mycroft, “Do you really think I can influence your brother and what do you mean ‘let him’? I have very little control over his actions. You must be daft. He does what he wants, when he wants. I just pick up the pieces and provide first aid when necessary.”

Mycroft leaned closer to John so that only he could hear him, “I think you would be surprised about how much influence you really have over him. He will do things for you he would never do for anyone. Yes, John. You are turning my brother into a better man, despite the unsavory way he retained your services.”

He turned to walk away and then he stopped and turned back to the doctor, “You might want to think about asking him someday why he decided to play poker that night. You might get a different answer than you are expecting.”

And with that he left, leaving a puzzled and confused John behind.


	5. Sitting at the Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah – again more about the humour. As Spock once said- ‘Logic is a little tweeting bird chirping in a meadow. Logic is a wreath of pretty flowers which smell bad.’ Extra virtual jam sent your way if you know the episode.

Chapter 5. Sitting at the Table

There Goes Another Month

The case was payback for Mycroft getting them out of the bank vault last month. Someone was turning up at weddings and stealing the gifts, mostly small items like envelopes of money, things easily hidden. This latest wedding was an important family with connections to the British Government so, of course, Mycroft was there as well. Sherlock would have said that the important family was friends of Mycroft’s but he was certain his brother didn’t have friends. Mycroft had managed to get them invited to this wedding, his reputation and that of Sherlock’s, assuring the father of the bride’s cooperation to save his daughter’s day of perfection. The cream of London society was here. 

Sherlock’s disguise was simple. He was here as a guest. Circling around the fringes of the party, stopping here and there talking to people, questioning. Right at this moment he was sitting at the table with all the lovely single ladies, charming them, trying to get them to divulge information about the missing gifts. Had they seen anything suspicious? Was there anyone at this wedding who had attended the others? Anyone out of place? It simply wasn’t fair. Sherlock was having a great time or at least appeared to be having a great time, laughing and pretending to flirt with lovely young things he wasn’t really interested in. He may actually be having a horrible time because he hated all of the social aspects of solving a crime, but he was certainly having a better time than John. He must have been.

Because John was definitely having the worst of it.

John wanted to bang his head on the table. 

He felt he was going to start any time soon.

“John, John, can you do this? Watch John, look at me. See? I can balance spoons on my cheeks as well as my nose. See? Look! Why aren’t you looking?”

John was in wedding hell.

He was at the kids’ table.

Sherlock had asked him to sit there. His role was child minder, hired by the hotel to watch the children who had been part of the wedding party. He had protested vehemently. Who was going to believe that a man of his age was here to watch children and not be regarded with suspicion in this day and age?

“But really John it is imperative you go there. Children sometimes see things adults miss. It is infinitely more logical for you to sit there rather than me. You are far more patient with an obnoxious brood than I will ever be. I’ll go and speak to the other guests. I know you are thinking that this is a perfect opportunity to meet an eligible young lady to replace the last infinitely dull one with whom you just broke up. Sharon? Carol? You know you wouldn’t have any luck with them anyway. They are completely out of your league. No, no you’d be much more useful to the case at the children’s table.”

John wasn’t even sure how Sherlock had managed to convince everyone that John needed to sit with the children, and he was beginning to wonder if this was Sherlock’s idea of a practical joke, except, well Sherlock didn’t do practical jokes. So here he was with Gracie, Jared, Anna, Ethan, Kyle and Savannah. 3 girls and 3 boys, all members of the wedding party. Apparently the bride thought it would be precious to have the same number of young wedding party members as the older attendants. Each child had walked down the aisle being escorted by a bridesmaid or a groomsman all matched up to the opposite sex.

John liked children very much. He always thought that someday he’d settle down and have a child or two. Someday. After he’d finished raising Sherlock and sent him off on his own. But this was different. These were children exposed to the hazards of a wedding. The hyper-excitement and stress of a wedding was enough to put most adults over the edge let alone a bunch of unsupervised small people. And there was the fact that as a doctor, when working shifts at the surgery, he normally dealt with them one at a time. He felt rather surrounded. 

And they really weren’t paying any attention to anything outside the radius of the table and the prospect of tormenting John, so how they, or John for that matter, were suppose to spot a thief was beyond him.

“And then I got to put on a headpiece of real flowers and then all the people saw me coming down the aisle and then I heard them say 'She’s so cute!' and then I saw all the people taking pictures and then…”

“Yes Gracie you told me that already. Why don’t you eat your dinner, there’s a good girl.”

But Gracie wanted to continue telling John all about her moment of glory.

“And then Kyle threw the pillow with the rings on it, and then…”

Kyle meanwhile was attempting to see how far his index finger could fit up his nose.

“Kyle we’re at the table. You might want to stop picking your nose.”

“But I can’t breathe. I have to get the bogies out so I can breathe and I can’t if I don’t pick them.”

“And then Jared started to cry, but I didn’t cry…”

“Look John! I got a spoon on my ear, too! Look!”

“Very nice Anna. Maybe put the spoons down now.”

“Jooohhnn, Ethan said the ‘E’ word. Tell him to stop. Daddy says the ‘E’ word is bad!”

“Savannah I don’t think I know what the ‘E’ word is.”

“It’s the ‘E’ word, the ‘E’ word!

“Why don’t you whisper it to me, then.”

At that moment the father of the bride stood up to make a toast and the noise of the crowd died away and Savannah chose that precise moment to tell John what the ‘E’ word was.

At the top of her lungs.

“He said fuck, Jooohhnn!”

Every eye in the room turned to where John was sitting. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment. He leaned over and whispered to Savannah, “I think that is the ‘F’ word.”

“and then Uncle Philip said he’d never seen anyone look more like a right pig’s arse as the bride in that dress and then…”

The father of the bride shot John an evil look and then proceeded to regale the wedding guests with the most boring and inappropriate toast John had ever heard.  
It was at this point that the idea of John hitting his head on the table manifested itself as a physical reality.

“What are you doing Jooohhnn?”

“and then I said why do you have that envelop in your hand? That’s the envelope we gave and then she said…”

John stopped banging his head as Gracie’s words suddenly sank in.

“Gracie what did you just say?”

Gracie stopped for a moment and looked at John. She rolled her eyes at him. Had he not been listening?

“Uncle Philip said…”

“No, no sweetheart, after that.”

She thought for a moment.

“Cousin Lila had the envelope Daddy had put on the table and then I asked her why she had it and then she said she was collecting them, but then I said that that was Gerald’s job because he had asked if he could do that ‘cause I got to be in the wedding and he didn’t and then Aunt Monica had said yes that he was….”

John stopped her once again. “Can you show me where Cousin Lila is right now?”

Gracie shrugged, “Okay.” She got down off of the chair. At that moment Jared, the youngest at the table, started to cry.

“I wan..an..ant my mum.”

With poor Jared turning into a puddle, John finally called on all the reserves he had. He pulled out a tissue and knelt down beside Jared and wiped his eyes and said. “It’s alright Jared. How would you like to play a game?”

Jared looked at him, a small tear escaping from his eye and with a quivering lip he asked, “What kind of a game?”

John grinned at the little boy, “It’s called ‘Catch a thief’.”

oOo

Sherlock was seriously put out. The wedding guests were all narrow minded, ignorant and completely dull. No one could tell him anything. No one had seen anything suspicious; no one had seen anything period. He was getting nowhere.

He looked over to where John had been sitting. A mean part of him had given John the task of sitting with the children. He had meant it when he had said that sometimes children knew things and noticed things that others did not and it was important to ask them questions. But the real reason he had given that task to John was he was feeling rather upset with the doctor. John did not realize this because Sherlock had not told him. John had made the selfish error of turning down going with Sherlock to a crime scene in favour of taking what’s her name out to dinner. Didn’t he know it was over the moment John had asked her out? Didn’t he realize there was no future between them, that she was totally wrong for John and annoying besides? And there was the simple fact that he worked for Sherlock. He was supposed to be at his beck and call. No, John needed a lesson and what better way than have him occupied with six small creatures who were hell bent on making John miserable. And the best part of it was that John was just too nice and decent to do anything about it. The last time he’d looked over at John a little while ago he was actually hitting his head on the table.

When he looked this time John and the six children were missing. Where on earth had they gone to? Had John finally cracked and taken the children somewhere to dispose of them? Not that Sherlock could blame him. He would have done it himself a lot earlier in the evening. But if he had, Sherlock was going to have to think of a way to protect John and keep him from any blame. That just meant a whole lot of extra work. 

And then he spotted them. They were on the other side of the room talking to a young woman. The children were jumping up and down while John was bent over whispering in her ear. She looked scared and sullen at the same time. Realization hit Sherlock. John had found the thief before he had. He was completely at sea. How had that happened? That wasn’t supposed to happen. John was supposed to say “Brilliant” and “Amazing” and hit people. He wasn’t supposed to do the deducing and the solving.

John meanwhile signaled to Mycroft and when his brother came over to speak to John they quietly walked the young woman out of the reception hall followed by a trail of children.

Sherlock stood there for a moment longer. He simply did not know what to do.

oOo

“So you were right Sherlock,” John said stifling a yawn, “The kids did know. That Gracie knew everything that happened at the wedding. She had seen her cousin Lila take the envelope. She was most indignant about it, because it was her older brother’s job. She just hadn’t realized that Lila was stealing presents. Apparently the whole family has been to all of the other weddings. But then really the whole lot of them have been making the rounds to all of the weddings, so I’m not surprised you didn’t notice it. If they all were showing up it would be hard to figure out who the guilty party was. No one would be out of place.”

Sherlock said nothing. He was very quiet. John, as tired as he was, didn’t really notice. At first.

John glanced over at Sherlock. He was lying on the couch, arms crossed, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Sulking.

John frowned, “You’re not angry, are you? Wait, you are. You’re angry with me because Gracie told me. I didn’t solve it or anything, Sherlock! I just listened to that little girl. I listened to her all night, as a matter of fact!” He snorted.

He looked at Sherlock more carefully. Sherlock’s left nostril twitched.

“You’re seriously angry with me because you missed it.” John shook his head. “Well I suppose I’ll get the silent treatment now. At least it will be a bit of a relief after putting up with that group of children all night.” John was hurt and he was getting angry.

“You know Sherlock, I didn’t do it to show you up or anything. I did it because Gracie gave me the clue. I would have thought you’d be rather pleased that the case was solved, but no it has to be about you, doesn’t it.”

Sherlock answered by rolling over and facing the wall.

John shook his head. He stood up and left the room. He stomped up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

Sherlock flipped back over. He was feeling feelings and he didn’t like it one bit.

His mobile rang. He rolled his eyes. He was well aware who that was and he wasn’t going to answer it.

Ring

No

Ring

NO

Ring

I will not answer!

Ring

FINE!

“I suggest you apologize to the doctor. He did you a service tonight. You punished him because you were jealous of him spending time with people other than you and he still continued to work for you despite your mistreatment of him.”

Sherlock refused to speak. 

“Sherlock, apologize. You are doing more harm and you may lose him if you continue with this childishness.”

“FINE!”

“And Sherlock. You need to tell him. Soon”

And he hung up.

Sherlock knew he wasn’t just talking about the apology.

oOo

The next morning John came down the stairs. He had had a good night's sleep and was ready to let it go. He knew that Sherlock would eventually get over his snit.

Someday

Perhaps

Well he was pretty sure he’d only bring it up once in a while.

Maybe

When John walked into the living room he stopped and stared. The table was set for breakfast.

And there was breakfast upon it.

Edible breakfast.

Sherlock was sitting there reading the papers.

“Ummm, did you…did you make breakfast?”

“Don’t be ridiculous John. I asked Mrs. Hudson to make it.”

John grinned. He knew it was Sherlock’s way of saying sorry. It was really the only apology he’d probably ever get.

He sat down at the table and tucked in.

“Thanks.”

Sherlock simply grunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stories about Bogies, the ‘E’ word and the propensity for hang spoons off of parts of your face are all based in fact! I was there.


	6. The Dealin's Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings – some swearing (natch) – yelling – a tiny bit of blood.
> 
> Opening scene slightly inspired by Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade – my son was watching while I was typing!

Chapter 6. The Dealin’s Done

Two Weeks Later

“John!”

“What?”

“John!”

“What?”

“John!”

“Sherlock! What is it? I can’t see you but I can hear you quite perfectly, thanks! In fact you are yelling in my ear!”

“I’m sorry, but it is rather urgent, seeing as we are tied in these chairs back to back, with little hope of escape. I feel that this may be the end and I wanted to get something off of my chest before we succumb to what ever fate these terrorists have planned.”

John sighed, “That was rather flowery even for you! And not your usual style – all melodramatic. Dramatic yes, but usually with out the melo.”

Silence

“Sherlock? What did you want to say?”

…

“I’m not certain how to phrase this. I am terribly afraid you will hate me.”

…

“Sherlock. I won’t hate you. Yes, you can be an annoying dick sometimes, but I like you. You’re my best friend, despite the fact that I work for you. And since we are in our last moments, don’t you think you could tell me whether or not I have worked off that debt? It would be rather nice to know that I didn’t have any unfinished business with you.”

…

“That’swhatIwanttotalkabout.”

“What? Did you just mumble? You never mumble!”

Through gritted teeth, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. If you would shut up for a moment I have something to tell you.”

…

…

“Sherlock?”

“SHUT UP!”

…

“I cheated.”

“Cheated? Cheated what?”

Sigh

“At cards. The night I won. At Stamford’s. I cheated.”

…

…

…

…

“John?”

…

“You cheated?”

“Yes, John.”

“You. Cheated?”

“Yes, I believe I said that.”

“YOU CHEATED!”

“Now really John! You don’t…”

“You great big, pompous arrogant arse! You cheated! At cards? And you have been lying about it all this time! Ever since?! And you put me through hell, telling everyone you won me?”

“Now, John I haven’t said that for a while, besides, people thought it was funny!”

“YOU cared what other people thought!? About that!? You thought that was funny!? You are the most annoying self-centered prat I have ever had the privilege to meet!”

…

“I am sorry, John. It seemed like the logical choice at the time.”

Sigh

“Why, Sherlock? Why did you do it?”

…

“May I ask you a question first, John? Before I tell you?”

…

“Okay.”

“Do you regret it? Working for…with me?”

…

“No. I can’t honestly say I regret it.”

He felt Sherlock’s head go down in relief? Acceptance? Hard to tell when he couldn’t see his face. Funny, he thought Sherlock could probably tell. He on the other hand was feeling an overwhelming number of emotions at the moment.

“If it’s any consolation to you it was really all Mycroft’s fault.”

“How the hell is that a consolation? He’s an interfering git, but I doubt he planted ‘Go play poker, cheat at cards & win an ex-soldier just for laughs’ in your thick head!! Why the hell am I not surprised by any of this!?”

“Well he threatened to cut me off and to force me to move in with him if I didn’t get a flatmate. Oh and someone to keep an eye on me. Make sure I behave myself.”

“Keep digging.”

“Pardon?”

“That hole you’re making for yourself. Keep digging it.”

“Oh? Oh!”

Silence

“Do you want to hear about it?” Almost wistful.

Sigh

“Yes. I suppose I do. And don’t try to guilt me with that tone. I do not for one second believe you are sorry.”

“Well I am. Sorry that is. But John you should know that I also don’t regret my actions. Because….”

“Because why Sherlock?”

“Because it led to you becoming my friend.”

John nodded slowly. Yes, when all was said and done, really, there was that.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Shoot what John? I don’t have a gun.”

John’s turn to grit teeth, “Tell me the damn story.”

“Oh! Right! I went to Stamford’s that night to research poker playing for a case. I had mentioned something to him about wanting to play poker. Stamford had been speaking about some friends coming over and I was welcome to join them. He also knew I was looking for a flatmate. He didn’t mention you in particular, but when you walked in I surmised that he had you I mind. So if it makes you feel any better you could, in theory, blame Stamford as well.”

“NO. It does not. Make me feel better. There is only one person at fault here.”

“Yes. Of course. Well when I saw you come in I deduced you. Do you remember what I said to you?”

“Of course I do Sherlock. What you had said that night was…amazing. It stuck with me, that you could know so much about me so quickly. And of course having seen you do it so many times since…well I was and I am amazed.”

“Thank you John. I meant it. I knew when I saw you that you were perfect. For me. To go with me on cases. You are a doctor, you were in the army, you’d seen a lot of action and gruesome deaths. I knew you’d keep up. You were not unintelligent. I figured we would get along alright. And I knew you needed me too.”

…

“John?”

“Thinking here, Sherlock.”

“Oh, right.”

“So you cheated?”

“Really John you can be so dull sometimes.”

“Not helping your case. How? How did you do it?”

“Slight of hand, stacking the deck, tells of course. Just…just magic tricks really and observation.”

“Oh.”

“Are you angry?” Again with the wistful tone.

“I…I don’t really know. Maybe disappointed is a better word. I would like to think if you had asked me, straight out, it would have worked. In fact I’m pretty sure you could have convinced me in a relatively short amount of time to move in with you.”

…

“No, Sherlock. I’m not angry. I told you once before you helped me, you healed me. I wouldn’t be where I am without you, you daft bugger.”

Sherlock believed him. He could hear the tolerant affection in his voice. He would really have to make it up to John. It was too bad they weren’t going to get out of this alive. He could, just, with some careful maneuvering, wiggle his hand a bit and touch John’s. Their arms were tied tightly to the outside of the chair, but their chairs were tied together. He reached. He found John’s hand and he gave his fingers a little squeeze. John squeezed back.

“It will be okay Sherlock.”

Trust John; always looking out for him, making sure he was all right.

“Umm Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“Don’t be upset. Okay?”

…

“Why would I be upset?”

“I just remembered something.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a pocketknife in my back pocket.”

…

“You mean to say you have been sitting there, all this time, with the means to enable our escape and you forgot!”

“Well, ummm, I’d blame the blow to my head earlier and your confession just now, but well…yeah. Besides I don’t think I can reach it.”

“I might be able to. Left or right?”

“My left, your right.”

“Yes thanks John, I wasn’t able to figure that out for myself.”

“Sorry.”

Sherlock wiggled his hand a bit more, trying to loosen the ropes they were tied with. After an extraordinarily lengthy amount of time he was able to inch his hand over to John’s back pocket. He wiggled a bit more, but it was still out of reach.

“What if I tried to shift over a bit. Think you could reach?”

“Perhaps.”

John wiggled to the side and Sherlock was able to touch the top of John’s pocket. 

“A bit more, John.”

John leaned over a bit more. The chairs began tilting.

“Wait! I’ve thought of something. Lean over more John!”

“What? Why?”

“We’ll both do it. Maybe the combined weight of us landing on the floor will help loosen the joints on the chair, if we hit it hard enough. The chairs are wooden and they are old.”

John thought for a moment.

“Okay but go to my right. I don’t want to land on my bad shoulder.”

“Right. On three, lean as far over as you can. We will have to rock. 1…2…3.”

They both leaned and rocked. The chairs tilted and fell to the ground with a heavy crash. Sherlock yelled as his head smacked on the ground. Air rushed out of his lungs. There was silence from the other chair.

“John?!”

…

“John!”

“Mmmff. Yeah, I’m here. Just bashed my head. Made me blackout a bit. Wonderful! Now both shoulders hurt. Damn!”

“See if you can wiggle more.”

The glue holding the chairs together was old and the force had knocked some of the joints out of alignment. It helped to loosen the ropes. Sherlock was able to reach John’s back pocket. He wiggled his fingers down and felt something metal brush against the tips. He wiggled a bit more. And finally reached the pocketknife. He pulled it out and it opened with a snick.

“Careful there! It’s sharp,” John said as Sherlock began sawing back and forth against the ropes near his hand.

“That was the general Idea!”

“I know that! I just didn’t want you slicing my hand!”

It took more time than they really wanted it too, but eventually Sherlock was able to cut through enough of the rope so they could throw off the rest. They each used the knife to cut through the rope around their legs and suddenly they were free. Each turned around to see if the other was alright.

John noted the new bruises forming on Sherlock’s face where he had been punched. Sherlock noted the blood at John’s temple and the possible signs of concussion. But they were both relieved that the other was okay. A slight grin played about John’s mouth. Sherlock’s eyes gleamed. John then nodded and they set to make their way out of the building where they had been held.

“We must contact Lestrade as quickly as we can. And I suppose my brother as well. They need to know the terrorists' plans as soon as possible.”

“Right.”

They slowly left the building, carefully watching out for signs of the terrorists that had captured them earlier. Eventually they were able to contact Lestrade and Mycroft and both were there when the terrorists were brought to justice.

All was right in London once again. For the moment anyway

oOo

“But I don’t want to!” Came the whine.

“You promised.”

“I’ve changed my mind!”

“You owe me.”

“But this is juvenile and degrading.”

John just raised his eyebrows at Sherlock.

“Yes, your point?”

“If I do this, we will be even?”

John thought for a moment. And then he grinned his lightening quick grin.

“Possibly. We’ll see how well this turns out.”

Sherlock looked at his blogger, his flatmate, his partner in work, his best friend, the man he could no longer claim as poker winnings. If this would make John happy and call things between them even, who was he to argue?

…

He was bloody Sherlock Holmes, that’s who. No way was he going to do this.

“Oh for Christ’s sakes Sherlock, just get it over with already!” huffed Lestrade impatiently. He, for one, thought Sherlock was getting off easily, especially with everything he’d put John through.

“Oh all right!”

Sherlock climbed up on a desk in the middle of the office of the Homicide division of New Scotland Yard.

He muttered something under his breath.

“I’m sorry. We did not hear you,” said John sweetly.

Sherlock sighed.

“Fine!”  
…

“I’m Batman!’

Cheers and laughter rang though the workspace. Multiple camera flashes went on and on. Check Youtube for the video.

Sherlock jumped down and went to stand in front of John.

“Satisfied!?” Sherlock almost sneered.

John grinned at him.

“For now Sherlock,” And John stepped closer, right into Sherlock’s personal space. His grin turned fierce, the kind of grin that made subordinates in the army know they were in deep shit with Captain Watson. “But if you ever lie to me again, if you ever avoid telling me everything that goes on in that brain of yours, especially if it concerns me, there will be hell to pay.”

He paused, ”You do realize that, right Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked down at the shorter man, who suddenly seemed so much taller to him. His eyes glittered in the light from above. A strange glitter. One that was not particularly comforting.

“Yes, John. I understand.”

“Good,” In a louder voice, “Who’s up to going to the pub? Sherlock’s treat!”

There were more cheers and laughter and affirmatives. Sherlock just sighed.

“Happy?” he quietly asked John.

“With you Sherlock? Always!”


End file.
